


thirteen: stay.

by wordtheef



Series: thirteen ways of looking at a Lannister [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mild Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: Brienne can’t think of anything but what happened last night — and what might happen soon.





	thirteen: stay.

Lady Sansa is talking.

She’s been talking some time. Brienne isn’t quite able to keep her mind on the topic (yes, undead army; yes, blazing eyes; the Wall is breached and the dragons lost and somewhere too is Cersei, alone and gone mad with it)

because Jaime is near.

He isn’t looking at her. He is _not-looking_ at her, as she is not-looking at him, inaction as difficult and deliberate as any swordfight.

_Brienne_, he’d said, breathing heavy from sparring. _Come to me tonight._

She had gone red._ Ser Jaime, —_

_Don’t — don’t pretend to misunderstand me, or that you don’t want this._

She licked her mouth.

He said: _I won’t mention it again. But you know where I sleep, and my door will be unbarred._

And so it was.

Brienne shifts on the hard wooden seat. She feels like — like she’s been riding (she has been ridden), like her bones are shifted out.

Jaime is still not looking at her.

She wishes she had courage to speak to him.

I’m not here for — I can’t — she’d stammered.

Of course not, he said, and locked the door behind her.

When his mouth touched her, all thought fled — all argument, all reason. She was on fire, she needed, and Jaime soothed and burnt her at the same time.

He moved faster than she’d ever seen him go, since his injury. Fully clothed, he laughed. How responsible you are.

Shut up. Shut up. Gods, you’re moving too slow —

— but it was only a moment before she was naked beneath him and his head bowing down to lick and bite, nails scratching. She clenched her hand in his hair and he hissed, rising up to kiss her, saying Hold still while he pressed on her body and (oh gods) went inside, a squirmy shrieking feeling of too much impossible no that went through her and through her, to the tips of her fingers, til she gasped aloud.

Again, he laughed. Wait, he said, and Gods you’re beautiful.

Don’t lie, she said. 

_He_ was beautiful, eyes deep and soft and dark.

Who’s lying? he said. We’re past lying. We passed it on the Kingsroad. You wanted me then. I wanted you.

Harrenhal, she gasped. He’s moving, he’s moving inside her body. You looked at me.

Wet, he said, not listening. You’re so wet. He shifted on top of her — tasted her breast — teasing down below where they were joined with his hand. Are you like this for me all the time? Do you lay in your own bed and think of me there?

— the words were mocking; his face was not. Every stroke had him shiver, every movement she made had him clench on her with whatever part of his body was closest — his mouth, his teeth, his fingers.

His hips pushing down.

Now Jaime catches her eye and smiles, slow.

Wet, he said again. He was so deep inside and so close, she was so close, she couldn’t do anything but arch to meet him, search for his mouth with hers.

More, she’d said. Please.

He pushed out of her rough — she cried out — and put his face between her legs, tongue and fingers going where cock had been a moment before. It was only a second and she was jolting upward and he moved away, fit himself again against her, again inside, finishing hot while she swore aloud, damning them both.

  
Brienne looks away.

  
I never thought, he’d said last night. Brienne, I didn’t know.

He cleaned them both and kissed away her whimpering aftershocks, saying things so sweet they had to be a lie — he’s loved her for years, he’s wanted her so long, she is the most perfect — all this nonsense. She told herself not to believe a word. Don’t even listen, she told herself.

I’m so happy, Jaime had said, falling asleep, his mouth against her neck. Brienne, tell me you’re happy.

She’d kissed him again and watched his eyes close.

Then she had gotten up and left.

After the interminable meeting, Jaime finds her again, walking fast down the hall.

“Ser Brienne,” he says.

“Ser Jaime.” Not slowing.

“A word, if you would.”

She stops, facing him. “One word.”

“More,” he says. “_More_.”

And he takes her hand.

And Brienne tells her heart: _Stay_.


End file.
